


Cowboy Like Me

by mylevelance



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Crime-Related Rivalry for Like Six Seconds, Ex-FBI Agent!Stiles, F/M, M/M, Oneshot, Slow Build, Slow Dancing, Someone Come Collect Stiles Before He Goes to Jail, Wedding Hijinks, slow on the uptake, thief!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28594227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylevelance/pseuds/mylevelance
Summary: Stiles Stilinski was good at his job, but his job wasn't good to him. So he left.Now he's sitting at Danny's wedding, already burnt out at twenty-seven. He's got all the skills to catch a criminal and no badge to use them. Who knew life as a civilian could be so boring?It would be a shame if someone... committed a crime...
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, background Allison Argent/Scott McCall
Kudos: 56





	Cowboy Like Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is a songfic for Cowboy Like Me by Taylor Swift.  
> 
> 
> If you don't know that song then this is a oneshot about finding love amidst robbery and fraud <3

_You're a cowboy like me  
Perched in the dark  
Telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear  
Like it could be love  
I could be the way forward  
Only if they pay for it  
You're a bandit like me  
Eyes full of stars  
Hustling for the good life  
Never thought I'd meet you here  
It could be love  
We could be the way forward  
And I know I'll pay for it_

Stiles hated suits. He adjusted his jacket as he followed Scott into the dining tent. Okay so it wasn’t a suit, it was a tuxedo. He hated tuxedos more than suits. Bow ties made him feel like he was part of a mime troupe and the sash thing made his torso look short like a villain in a kid’s movie. He started making a ranking in his head of his least favourite formalwear as they looked for their place settings. Tuxedo then three piece suit then regular suit. He liked the SWAT suits better. He used to wear those sometimes. 

Danny’s wedding was black-tie. Even as a twenty-seven year old, Stiles had to call his dad to make sure that didn’t mean that he just had to wear a black tie. If they wanted everyone in tuxedos, they should have just said tuxedo on the invitation. Stiles had deduced Danny’s brand new husband was from an old money family. By deduced he meant he did three hours of digging into the guy as soon as he received the invite, just to check. He found nothing suspicious other than a few traffic violations and intergenerational tech startup money. Go Danny.

Apparently that old money meant Stiles had to go through the unexpectedly complicated ordeal of renting a tuxedo, just to find his name written on the back corner table of the reception. Scott and Allison waved apologetically as they found their seats at one of the middle tables. Even Greenberg got to be closer to the front. Stiles didn’t blame Danny, though. Danny probably remembered that most of the problems in Beacon Hills High could be connected tangentially to Stiles. It was all Scott’s fault, obviously, but Stiles had definitely been found at the epicentre of various implosions over the years. He would have put himself in the back corner of a wedding reception too. It seemed like a nice reception after a nice, albeit long, wedding ceremony. They were on the country club tennis court converted for gala seating, so at least the floor was durable if Stiles somehow caused a crash or fire or general mayhem. He’d promised Allison he’d be on his best behaviour.

It was going to be a plated meal of five courses, according to the note card in the centre of the table. Stiles groaned. A buffet would have been better so at least he could get up and bother Scott or Allison or even Jackson on the way to the food. Stiles would have to suffer in the back corner with all the other undesirables for the next two hours. He nodded hello to the six random people who occupied the seats around his table.

The first course came out and Stiles entertained himself by brushing up on his profiling, trying to guess what strangers did for work by the way they ate. It was an old habit from work. He’d just quit the FBI just last month after four years of dogged work. He’d thought it would be about solving complicated murders and chasing bad guys, like he and Scott did in high school. It had turned out to be more about towers of repetitive paperwork and senior supervisors taking credit for his work. His dad convinced him to stick it out a few years more past that realization. That only led to a secondary realization that he wasn’t helping anyone. He’d joined with the intention of working in the murder and missing persons division. They’d transferred him to the fraud department because a bunch of senior agents had actually been corrupted into the embezzlement they were supposed to be busting. Idiots. They were sloppy for supposed experts on the subject. Not that Stiles condoned embezzlement.

Stiles had been set to sifting through stacks of irrelevant bank records and paper trails with dead ends. He barely had time to work on real cases due to the new sanctions they seemed to be dolling out to grassroots organizations and block parties. The last straw had been when his supervisor took him off a human trafficking case to track down an average joe check forger. Apparently the government cared more about their tax dollars than real human lives. Stiles couldn’t stomach it. 

So now here he was at Danny’s wedding, jobless, sober, and alone. Peachy. 

“... and would you believe my wallet’s missing?” the older gentleman across the table was telling a younger lady, an heiress if Stiles guessed correctly, beside him, “Must have dropped it in the foyer. It’s the strangest thing, though. I swear I put it back in my coat pocket.”

It was a statement of his intense boredom that this piqued Stiles interest. 

“Was there anything in it?” he asked across the table. The older guy looked startled that he spoke considering he hadn’t even introduced himself. 

“What do you think is in a wallet?” the old guy said a bit obviously, “Cash and cards.”

“How much?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Did you check at the front?” Stiles ignored the man’s frustration. He could feel a mystery taking shape. 

“Of course, that was the first thing I did.”

“Did anyone-”

Stiles was cut off by the squeal of microphone feedback. Jackson stood at the podium near the front. He grinned charmingly into the crowd. Stiles rolled his eyes. He wasn’t all-bad, but he was definitely still all-cocky. Jackson started his speech and Stiles was forced to let the issue drop.

Over the next two courses there are speeches from nearly every member of the family and a good chunk of their friends as well. Stiles worked out their family drama while they talked about young love and the joys of marriage. If his well practiced vibe-detector served him right, Danny’s new mother in-law was still a bit on the fence about the whole two groom situation, Danny’s new husband hadn’t told him about his ex sitting in the back at Stiles’ table, and Danny’s new father-in law should’ve stopped drinking an hour ago. Ah, miraculous love. 

As soon as the speeches ended with a luke-warm applause, Stiles turned back to his victim. He corrected himself, he didn't talk to vics anymore. He turned back to his new acquaintance. 

“So when did you last have…”

The words died in his throat. Across the tent, so far Stiles almost thought he’d imagined it, was a very familiar face. That face turned his way. Stiles would've loved to have felt butterflies or a warm tingle, but in reality he blacked out for a split second, choked on his spit, then proceeded to cough into his elbow for a solid minute. The misfits at his table silently watched him hack out a lung and gulp down water. 

Son of a bitch. Also. What the fuck. 

Derek Hale stood beside Danny's mother-in law. Good goddamn, Derek hadn't aged a day. He was exactly as intimidatingly handsome as he had always been. He hadn't even changed his hair. His hand rested casually on the mother of the groom's wrist and he laughed at something she said. Stiles unconsciously catalogued the laugh in the ‘Derek Hale Fake Laugh’ box. There were a lot of laughs like that in Stiles’ memory from times Derek needed to get something from someone. He usually got what he wanted. Consciously, Stiles struggled to process how the universe created Derek Hale and then let him walk around in a tux. There was no justice in the world for the rest of them, clearly. 

Stiles recognized the look on Derek's face as he glanced beyond the mother of the groom to the rest of the head table. It was the same look Stiles would have had on his own face when he was sizing up the people sitting at his back-corner table. Was Derek… scoping out the crowd?

It was only because Stiles was watching Derek so intently that he noticed it. Derek touched the woman on the back, laughed politely, and excused himself. He slid his hand into his coat inner pocket as he walked past her. But wait. Stiles’ eyes jumped back to the woman’s wrist where Derek’s other hand had just been. It was bare of the flashy tennis bracelet that had been there moments prior. Stiles ran it back in his head. Derek’s hand was there and the bracelet was there, then both were gone. Actually, Derek was gone altogether. Danny rejoined the table from outside of the tent and Derek was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Danny would have recognized Derek in a second. 

“Uh, were you going to say something,” the woman beside the wallet guy spoke up warily. 

Stiles shook his head, “No… nevermind.”

The woman gave him an odd look and went back to her steak.

Stiles’ brain wasn’t in the present conversation about the groomsmaids dress colour. He had presented with a set of facts. Derek Hale was here, in dresscode, looking good enough to kill. Derek Hale had never been close enough to Danny to be invited, even to a three hundred person wedding like this. Derek Hale had approached the mother of the groom when Danny had gone to the washroom. Derek Hale had removed a diamond tennis bracelet from the elderly woman and pocketed it. The man at Stiles’ table was also missing his wallet. 

Considering these facts, Stiles realized he had to take action. He hated when he had to take action knowing he was about to ruin something. Could be a tablecloth, could be a reputation, could be a friendship. Stiles' actions typically led to ruining. Ruining which used to work great for taking down bad guys, but he wasn't sure if there even was a bad guy right now. 

No biggie. He’d just track down the man he’d idolized as a teenager and confront him about stealing. God, sometimes his left brain and right brain fought so hard he got a headache. He’d never been able to let shady business slide until he understood exactly what was going on. Maybe there was a good explanation. However, his experience told him the simplest answer was usually the truth. 

Over the next two courses, Stiles didn’t catch even a glimpse of Derek. Figures. If he was wedding crashing, there wouldn’t exactly be a place setting for him. Soon the guests were asked to move indoors for cocktails and dancing. Stiles filed into the country club ballroom with the stream of people in gowns and black. The ballroom was candlelit and marked by towering white and blue bouquets along the walls. One of those bouquets probably cost a month of Stiles’ rent. He didn’t find that he felt bitter about it, if anyone deserved to show up his peers it was Danny. Stiles caught a glimpse of Scott and Allison up ahead and tried to wade through the milling crowd towards them. Just before he reached Scott’s shoulder, someone popped up in his path. 

“Jesus Christ, Lydia,” Stiles put a hand on his chest, “Warn a guy, will you?”

“Stiles. You look good.”

The compliment caught Stiles completely off guard. He supposed his hair had grown out a bit since high school and he’d had to get in shape for the FBI application process. He’d been there for every single one of those push-ups and training laps over the years. They hadn’t felt all that life-improving at the time, more vomit-inducing. But Allison had told him he cleaned up good when they met at Scott’s place and Stiles had no reason not to believe her. 

Lydia also looked good. Really good. He hadn’t seen her in too long. It got tough to keep up with his friends over the last few years. If crime never slept, tax fraud paperwork was on a perpetual adderall bender. Lydia seemed to have grown a little more into her big eyes and confident walk. She used to make Stiles feel like she’d bite his head off and it would be his honour. Now she seemed more like she knew who the fuck she was and what the fuck she was doing. It was a subtle change, but a nice one. Her cobalt blue gown complemented her fiery hair well. Stiles didn’t look at her boobs as a display of his maturity and wisdom. 

“Thanks Lyds. This is a fancy thing, huh,” he sounded like a complete idiot. Great. 

Lydia smiled and hooked her arm around his like they were old friends. Well, they kind of were. There was a time he hadn’t wanted any love but hers. He’d got too busy to chase her like he used to, distracted with work and saving up for a new Jeep. He was dumb to think any Jeep was better than Lydia.

“The best thing about fancy stuff is the open bar. Wanna get trashed?”

Stiles blinked, then nodded vigorously. Lydia walked him to the bar at the side of the ballroom as Danny and his husband took their first dance. Lydia walked up to the front of the line like she expected the bartender to serve her before the fifteen other people waiting. And of course, the bartender did. Stiles collected his house wine and Lydia collected her aperol spritz. When Stiles was younger, he’d thought the world would stop revolving around hot people sooner or later. Here he was, on the arm of the walking proof that he was still wrong. 

“So,” Lydia said in between delicate sips of the tangerine coloured drink, “Whatcha been up to, Stiles? I heard a rumour about some hotshot agent job, but you should probably set it straight.”

Stiles snorted, “Now that’s something I can’t do,” Lydia looked at him quizzically and he rushed to keep talking, “Not the rumour, just you know, the other thing… nevermind. I did get a pretty cool job though. FBI, got the jacket and everything.”

“Really?” there was a light in Lydia’s eyes Stiles’ had never seen before, a glint of something like interest. 

“Yeah, my team caught like seventeen white collar fraudsters last year and I even took apart a pyramid scheme,” Stiles knew he was bragging, but this was _Lydia Martin_. Old habits died hard. Breaking his back trying to impress her was one of his oldest habits.

“Oh really?” Lydia closed her lacquered lips around the black straw in her drink. Stiles gulped reflexively. “That seems like a good fit for you. I remember you always chasing ambulances and racing the cops to the murder suspects back in Beacon Hills. You’re in the big leagues now, hmm?”

Okay Stiles might be imagining it, but that really felt like flirting. Was Lydia flirting with him? If only his sixteen year old self could see him now! He laughed a bit nervously and smiled in what he hoped wasn’t a completely unhinged way. If anyone was in the big leagues, it was her. He hadn’t been keeping tabs on her or anything, but he just happened to have a google search alert for her name which let him know she’d collected her Fields Medal and was now next in line for NASA’s head of astrophysics. Big league stuff.

He was about to tell her about quitting the FBI, when something caught his eye. Someone.

For the love of god, what was Derek Hale doing on the edge of the dance floor talking to some guy with salt and pepper hair and an orange spray tan? Stiles’ eyes went to Derek’s hands and he answered his own question. Derek laughed heartily, fake again, and shook the man’s hand. Simultaneously, he relieved the man of his gold watch. 

“Stiles?” Lydia drew his attention back. 

Stiles shook his head and bounced on his toes a bit, “Sorry, sorry. I just....” he literally could not _believe_ what he was about to say, “I have to take care of something real quick.”

Lydia frowned and Stiles knew he’d be kicking himself for the next century for this. Lydia Martin noticing him, let alone flirting with him, had been all he’d ever wanted. Left brain versus right brain round three thousand. He took a breath and ran his hand through his hair. 

“I’ll see you around though, okay?” he said. 

Lydia rolled her eyes, “Always something with you. You know where to find me,” she gestured vaguely around the room.

“Sorry, again, I just-” Stiles pointed behind him, turned on his heel, and practically jogged away. 

His internal monologue went something like ‘why the fuck does this always happen to me’ as he searched the room for those familiar piercing eyes and artfully maintained scruff. There! Derek leaned casually against the back wall, looking the picture of a relaxed bachelor taking a break from the commotion. Except. His eyes were trained on the purse hanging from the shoulder of the woman beside him. She was turned away, animatedly talking with her friend. She’d never notice the sound of the clasp under the growing din of the room. 

Stiles practically crashed into the wall between Derek and the purse. Derek jerked back from the impact.

“Ow, fuck,” said Stiles eloquently. He rubbed his shoulder, he probably didn’t need to use that much force. 

“Stiles? What are you doing here?”

Stiles looked up and nearly repeated the whole blacking out/coughing routine from earlier. Derek Hale was a fucking work of art up close. Stiles hadn’t been this close to him since they’d had to break Scott out of the town holding cell. Suddenly nine years didn’t make a bit of difference and Stiles was back to feeling like his bumbling neurotic teenage self in front of Derek Hale. 

“Stiles?”

Stiles shook himself. He’d caught four ponzi scheme kingpins, Derek Hale didn’t scare him. Much. 

“It’s Danny’s wedding. I was invited, believe it or not. A better question is what are you doing here?” Stiles whispered the last part furiously. 

Derek shrugged, “Oh you know, this and that.”

“Derek, this is a black-tie closed event. You can’t just wander in for shits and giggles. You’re wearing a fucking tux,” Stiles waved his hand around Derek’s chest area vaguely. What a chest. 

“It doesn’t concern you,” Derek said, tone turning hard, “Why don’t you go find Scott?”

Stiles’ temper flared. Maybe he’d followed around Scott like a loyal understudy almost a decade ago, but he was grown now. He’d walked his own path and made his own mistakes just like Derek. 

“No, you know what? You do _concern_ me,” Stiles put some vinegar in his words, “I’d say a wallet, a tennis bracelet, and a gold watch are worth a bit of concern.”

Derek looked at him sharply and grabbed his arm, “You didn’t see anything.”

Stiles shoved his hand off, “I’m sure the mother of the groom would have something to say about that. Security in these places is highly motivated I hear. I have to ask though, why’d you come into the dinner at all? That seems risky.”

Derek sighed, “Can you just let this go? It’s a nice party.”

“No, asshole,” Stiles whacked him on the arm which admittedly wasn’t very mature, but he was feeling a bit defensive, “You tell me why you went into dinner, why you’re stealing shit, and I’ll consider not calling security,” Stiles lied.

“Fine,” Derek said, “First of all, I’m not ‘stealing shit’, I’m redistributing resources. And I went into the dinner to introduce myself to the mother of the groom.”

“Okay we’re totally going to come back to the whole redistributing bullshit, but why’d you talk to her? She doesn’t know you, unless you planned the decor in which case congratulations you really pulled this one together. Love the tulips.”

“Exactly. She doesn’t know me,” Derek said cryptically. 

The pieces clicked into place in Stiles’ head, “Oooh, I get it. So you talk to the lady who pretty much planned the wedding when Danny’s gone so he can’t say you’re not his friend from school or whatever you said. If anyone asks you later on, she recognizes you and doesn’t immediately call security on your fine ass.”

“My fine ass?”

Stiles blushed, “You know what I mean. Did I get it right?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, “Now leave me alone.”

“No,” said Stiles, leaning against the wall, “You know I worked in the FBI fraud department, right?”

Derek swore under his breath. Then he took off. That was a common reaction to Stiles. Something about his energy just brought out that frustration-panic combo in people, especially those mid-crime. It was one of his charms. Knowing this, Stiles was ready for it. He chased Derek and caught him by the wrist in the middle of the dance floor. He would have never caught Derek a decade ago. Couples spun around them to some ballad about dying young and living free. Derek whirled to face him, eyes darting around to make sure no one was listening. The music was loud enough to drown them out anyway.

“Look, Stiles,” Derek spoke quickly, “I’m not doing anything wrong-”

"Pretty sure the law would say otherwise -”

“- it’s barely stealing. My inheritance ran out and I can’t get a job with my track record. You know all of the charges were bullshit, _you_ helped me prove my innocence, but I ran out of money a few years ago.”

“And you think stealing is the way to make a livable wage?” Stiles asked incredulously.

Jackson spun up to them with his date, “Dance or get off the fucking floor, Stilinski.”

“Copy that,” Stiles turned to Derek and lifted his hand expectantly, “Let’s dance.”

Surprisingly, Derek silently took his hand and placed the other on Stiles’ waist. After a struggle of who was leading, they eventually worked out a little side to side sway, standing as far apart as possible. There was no helping their joined hands. Stiles’ hand wouldn’t have fit so well in Derek’s back in Beacon Hills, but now his fingers rested perfectly in the crook of Derek’s thumb.

“Now’s a perfect time for an explanation, bucko,” Stiles muttered.

Derek inched a bit closer to speak, “Look, the guy with the wallet has a net worth of fifteen million,” Stiles whistled under his breath, finding the man from his table standing near the bar “and the mother of the groom was just talking about her diamond _collection_. You know they’re probably blood diamonds too. And the guy with the watch,” Derek tipped his head towards the spray-tan guy laughing with a group of other wall street types, “He drove up in a Rolls Royce. That’s a four hundred thousand dollar car, Stiles.”

“I know what a Rolls Royce is,” Stiles said. 

He was having a bit of trouble keeping his brain on topic. Derek Hale was talking to him in more than stoic grunts. Derek Hale was touching him. Okay so maybe he’d actually passed out sometime at dinner and this was a warped fantasy hallucination. It made sense that even in his fantasy hallucination he’d be solving crimes. Although it was weird he’d mixed up the criminal and his fantasy man like this. Maybe he really did need that psychologist they’d offered at work. 

“So are we good then?” Derek’s eyes had these little gold flecks. Stiles liked Derek’s eyes a lot, he always had. That jade green felt like jumping in an ice cold pool on a hot day.

“Yes…” Stiles shook himself, “Wait, no, the fuck? You have to give it all back.”

“I’m not giving it back,” Derek said. He swung Stiles around, breaking their little swaying pattern. Stiles let Derek take them into another kind of dance with the change of the song, too focused on not tripping to care that Derek was leading. Oh, it was a waltz. He’d heard about these before.

“But you have to.”

“Says who?”

“Says the security team up front and the cameras.”

“I’ll be gone before they catch me.” 

Stiles didn’t doubt that. Derek had a knack for getting out of sticky situations like Stiles had a knack for getting into them. He had to come up with something better than security. It wasn’t that he felt that bad for these people. Allison was the only woman in the room without a diamond on her neck and Scott and Stiles were the only ones without a Rolex on their wrists. Derek was right, they were wealthy beyond belief and they wouldn’t miss a few trinkets and dollars. It was more the principle of the thing. Maybe he wasn’t an official agent anymore, but he could still spot a scam from a mile away. He felt this need to prove to himself that he could make things right off the government payroll. 

“I’d know you did it.”

Derek smiled then and Stiles’ breath caught in his throat. Was he going to choke again? Oh god, please don’t let him choke on his spit in front of Derek Hale. 

“You couldn’t find me if you tried,” challenged Derek.

And in that moment, Stiles thought of something better than threatening security. Derek spun them in a circle and the lights blurred soft yellow behind his head.

“How about I try it your way?” Stiles offered. 

Derek raised an eyebrow, “My way?”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Stiles waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Derek scoffed, “Fine, try me.”

“Okay, so, I bet that I can pick-pocket more than you tonight,” at Derek’s incredulous expression, Stiles rushed to continue, “If I win, you give everything back. If you win, you keep everything I get too. C’mon, it’ll be a breeze.”

If there was one thing Stiles had, it was tricks up his sleeves. He’d learned a lot about theft and fraud at the FBI, a lot about how to pull them off. Pick-pocketing was well within his wheelhouse. Derek didn’t need to know that though. 

“Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to trap me,” Derek said into Stiles’ ear as they spun again across the floor. 

Stiles shivered, “S-Scout’s honour.”

He’d been kicked out of the Scouts. 

“If the alternative is running from security, I’ll take it. I just got these shoes.”

Stiles laughed. Did Derek just make a joke? This night would go down in the books for a lot of reasons. 

“Alright,” Stiles murmured into Derek’s ear because when else would he get the chance, “We’ll start at the next song and go until,” he checked Derek’s watch because it was fun to bother him, “midnight.”

“Two hours. Sure you’re up for it, hotshot?” Derek said with a challenging grin. 

“Born ready,” Stiles said. It didn’t make any sense, but he was hanging onto his last brain cell by a thread since Derek got up in his space. How was he still so buff? Did he take a single cheat day in the last nine years?

The song changed to an upbeat pop synth song. Stiles let Derek go and tried not to feel the cold air on his hand and ribs. 

He couldn’t hear, but he saw Derek smile wide and mouth the word ‘Go’. 

Derek vanished into the growing crowd on the dance floor. Stiles cracked his neck one way, then the other. Okay, okay. He could do this. It was for a good cause. He called it the ‘Helping Derek Hale Find Gainful Employment Top Secret Project’. All good causes had long names. He bounced on his toes, took a breath, and plunged into the mosh pit of formalwear. 

It was easy. It was way, way too easy. 

He started small, dipping into the coat check under the guise of looking for his friend’s scarf which he couldn’t quite describe and just _had_ to look for himself. He got ten wallets from that little venture. Did people really not care about their black cards and Balenciaga bags? He took the cash and left the wallets, memorizing how much was in each for when he gave it all back.

He got a bit bolder for the next ones. He ‘tied his shoe’ beside many standing tables with purses hanging off the sides. He didn’t know exactly how much a Yves Saint Laurent pocket mirror went for, but the person had seven in their bag like they were giving them out. 

He started stashing things in an ice bucket he hid under the long table cloths of one of the standing tables in the corner. He was careful to wait until no one was looking. There was no way Derek was going to be able to top what he'd already got.

He eventually made his way to the dance floor. He jumped to the beat with all of Danny’s drunk new relatives, bumping into them and leaving with their watches and bracelets. It was trickier than rifling through the coat check. He did a practice run on Scott while he was distracted with Allison. He pocketed Scott’s cracked sports watch to give back to him later. The late night snacks came out on silver carts and Stiles stuffed his face with finger sandwiches. Stealing was tiring work. 

He saw Derek once or twice, leaning into the neck of a woman in a red gown or gliding through the shadows at the edge of the dance floor. Stiles watched him with his head on a swivel. Derek caught his eye once and winked conspiratorially. Stiles tripped into one of the groomsmen who tripped into his date who spilled her drink on her stomach. Oops. 

Midnight came around with an empty dance floor and both grooms long gone. Stiles stood in the foyer waiting for Derek to show his face again. His trove was hidden in a canvas tote with the country club logo on the front. He’d actually paid for that.

“Well, Stiles,” a voice beside him made him jump, “I hope your little game was worth it.”

“Jesus Christ, Lydia, what did we talk about?” Stiles said, putting his hands on his hips and trying to bring his heart rate down.

Lydia smiled, “Actually Lydia’s my first name.”

“Ha ha.”

“You know it’s not polite to linger when the party’s over,” Lydia said.

Something else she said registered with Stiles, “Wait, what game?”

“Oh, maybe,” Lydia twisted a copper strand around her manicured finger, “chasing Derek Hale around instead of keeping me company?”

“You saw that, huh?”

“Stiles, everyone saw that. You danced with him in the middle of the couples only waltz.”

Stiles groaned. So that was why there were so few other people on the floor.

Lydia continued, “But I also saw you take Ms.Feldston’s Tiffany bracelet and chuck it under a table. Don’t look so freaked out, nobody saw you but me.”

Stiles tried to breathe but his chest felt a little tight. Should he tell her about ‘Helping Derek Hale Find Gainful Employment Top Secret Project’?

“Look, Lydia-”

She put a finger to his mouth. He stared down at her hand, going a cross-eyed. 

“I honestly don’t care about whatever that was. I just want to know that the next time I ask you for a drink you’ll say yes and not run off to solve the crime of the day,” Stiles nodded his head silently, “Good. See you in another five years.”

Stiles watched her walk away and thought mournfully of his ten year plan that had turned into a fifteen year plan and now potentially a twenty year plan. Maybe he’d be kicking himself for the next _two_ centuries. 

A hand clapped him on the shoulder and he nearly flipped the person on their back. Oh, it was just Scott. Stiles looked up at the ceiling for a second to regain his composure.

“Strike out again?”

Stiles laughed sardonically, “Ha! You have no idea man. I was this,” he pinched his fingers together, “close to not fucking it up.”

Scott smiled sympathetically. Allison came up beside him and draped herself over his shoulder. Stiles was not jealous. He just… could use a person draping themselves on him. Or he could do the draping. He didn’t mind. 

“You ready to head out?” asked Allison. 

“Nah, I gotta,” Stiles wracked his brain, “tip the waiter.”

Scott gave him a look, “You don’t have to tip the waiters. This was a catered event.”

“Yeah, I just got, like, really good service. Gotta help the little guy, you know?”

Scott yawned, “Okay. Do you want us to wait?”

“No, it’s cool. You guys have to catch a flight back to Beacon Hills in the morning anyway. I’ll call you.”

Scott gave him a hug. Stiles slipped Scott’s watch into Scott’s jacket pocket. He was getting pretty good at pick-pocketing, actually. He was one hundred percent certain that was not a good thing. Allison gave him a peck on the cheek and a light squeeze on the shoulder. 

“Bye Stiles, safe trip home.”

They walked away and Stiles was alone again.

“You ready?”

Stiles whipped around, sputtering. 

“What is WRONG with people? You don’t just creep up to someone like a… creeper!”

Derek merely smiled and held up a black bag, “Let’s hit the golf course before someone comes back for their wallet.”

Stiles could get behind that plan. 

Derek walked out of the country club confidently like he was supposed to be veering left off the walkway to the valet and crossing through the front garden to the golf course entrance. Stiles tried to walk as quietly as Derek, but his feet seemed to find every branch. He swore each time he crunched on a branch which probably didn’t help. 

“Where are we going?” he whisper-yelled at the back of Derek’s head. 

Derek barely turned, “There’s a spot under the tree by the water feature without cameras.”

“Won’t they see us go _to_ the spot without cameras?”

“People tend to make the assumption that benefits them.”

“Yeah I know that, I literally wrote a field report on that for a dating app scammer,” Stiles said indignantly. 

“So why are you asking me?”

“I just,” Stiles tried to put the words right, “I’m fine with that assumption. I didn’t know if you were. Fine with it, I mean.”

“It doesn't matter to me," said Derek and Stiles' heart did a little flip kind of thing, "We’ll just rumple our clothes before we walk back out and we’ll get off scot-free.”

“That’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said. Scot-free. Because Scott’s not here.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Stiles blinked and shook his head, completely bewildered what had happened to his grip on the situation. 

They reached a cluster of weeping willows on the bank of a perfectly round pond. Stiles thought it was a bit of an uncanny valley how fake the perfectly designed water feature looked under the moonlight. More like a computer graphic than nature. It could almost be a real pond if someone just wrecked it a bit. Derek sat down at the base of the willow tree between two gnarled roots. Stiles sat down beside him, fighting the urge to kick off his shoes. 

“Should we do a big reveal and dump the bag or go one by one for the suspense?” said Stiles.

Derek quirked an eyebrow, “Why don’t you go first.”

“Sure, sure, make the new guy go first,” Stiles grumbled as he opened up his bag. 

Along the gnarled root of the willow tree between them he set out his findings: nine hundred and fifty dollars in cash, seven designer pocket mirrors, three diamond inlaid watches, and one Tiffanys silver bracelet. 

“How ‘bout them apples?” Stiles boasted. 

Derek smiled appreciatively at the stash. 

“You did pretty good, Stilinski,” he used a tone that suggested that Stiles had not, in fact, done good enough to win. “But not good enough to win.” Ah, there it was. 

Derek unzipped the black bag and carefully laid out eight diamond necklaces in the grass. If they had been the kind of diamond necklaces Stiles was used to seeing on his coworkers in head office or the lawyers in the halls, he would have won with the Rolex alone. They weren’t those kinds of diamond necklaces. They were huge and intricate and crystal clear. Or, really better than crystal, diamond clear. From his work in the fraud department he guesstimated their combined value well over half a million.

Stiles found himself sputtering for the fifteenth time that night.

“Um, what the ever loving FUCK, Hale? How’d you even take those without anyone noticing?”

“I used my charm,” Derek said in a complete deadpan. Stiles let out a noise halfway between a honk and a groan. 

“We’re screwed. We’re so totally screwed. You’ll protect me in prison, right?” he batted his eyelashes sarcastically at Derek. 

“Calm down, we’re not going to prison,” Derek said dismissively. 

Stiles jumped up onto his feet and started pacing, “I don’t know if you thought of this before, but you’re too hot to pull this off!”

“What are you talking about now?” Derek said, still sitting surrounded by his diamonds. Stiles felt sick. 

“It’s like the third rule in the conman playbook. The best scammers are the most ordinary average unnoticeable people. The point is so when the cops ask who took their diamond necklace, they don't go ‘Oh yeah, it was that fucking GQ model with his hand around my neck’! Hot people are bait only, Derek. You should know this by now!” Stiles yelled. 

Derek was on his feet in an instant, covering Stiles’ mouth with his hand. Stiles thought about biting it, but Derek’s hands had been on a lot of people today. 

“You know what definitely will get us caught?” Derek whispered furiously into Stiles ear, “If you yell about stealing diamond necklaces right beside the place where we stole them.”

Stiles nodded and Derek let him go. 

“Why did you say we?” asked Stiles at a more appropriate volume.

Derek shrugged, “I get all the winnings so it’s more like we’re a team than two separate operations.”

Stiles seriously considered assuming fetal position and rolling into the pond. His plan was to beat Derek and give the stuff back and if that didn’t work, dropping the stuff and running. He couldn’t run now, not if Derek had decided they were a theft and crime _team_. He’d just get called into questioning if Derek got caught. Now he had to make sure Derek didn’t get caught. He should’ve RSVP’d no to Danny’s wedding. 

“Goddamn it,” he said, more dejected than mad.

“Hey now,” Derek lifted his hands, “it was your idea.”

“Yeah, I was there. I can’t believe you conned me into helping you again. It’s the cheekbones I think, maybe the eyes,” Stiles muttered to himself. 

“Is this the ‘too hot to pull it off’ bullshit again?” Derek sighed. 

Stiles side eyed him suspiciously, “You know I didn’t actually want to get all those detentions for skipping class in high school to help you, right? I got grounded every other week for all the well-intentioned B and E Scott and I did. For you.”

“I didn’t ask you to do anything,” Derek insisted. “You guys were just kids, you said you wanted to help and you guys did. People don’t still think I murdered my own family because of you guys.”

“See, see that’s the thing, Derek. I’m not a kid anymore and I _still_ feel like I need to do right by you. I’m putting myself on the line with you all over again instead of just walking away. I honestly thought I would grow out of it by now,” Stiles laughed bitterly.

“I know you’re not a kid anymore,” Derek said slowly. 

“Yeah,” said Stiles, unsure if Derek missed his point altogether. 

“I’m sorry I treated you that way. I guess I wasn’t paying attention to what was happening,” continued Derek. He stepped into Stiles’ space. Stiles tried not to step back. Derek was still a few inches taller than him, but it felt like a lot more when they were only a handspan apart. 

“Um,” said Stiles.

“I’m paying attention now.”

Stiles' brain short circuited. Somehow he was kissing Derek. He didn’t know who moved first. 

Okay, so, his mouth was on Derek Hale’s. That might as well happen. Stiles decided that if he was already here, he should make it worth the effort. 

He slid one hand up around Derek’s neck and tilted his head for a better angle. He moved his lips against Derek’s. Hmm, actually that felt really good. He’d never kissed anyone with stubble before. 

Derek responded all at once. He wrapped an arm around Stiles’ waist, pushed Stiles up against the trunk of the willow tree, and kissed back hungrily. Stiles felt a moan low in his chest, he didn’t know which one of them did it but the vibration of it felt fucking fantastic. He didn’t care about the diamonds when Derek’s tongue swiped along the inside of his lip. In the back of his mind he figured Derek wouldn’t be a good kisser because he was too handsome to need to try. Thank god he was wrong. Stiles took Derek’s lower lip between his teeth for a moment before returning to the fevered kissing they’d escalated to. Now _that_ moan was definitely Derek. 

Stiles was just about to see about the back of Derek’s teeth with his tongue when Derek pulled back. He searched Stiles’ face questioningly. Then he stepped away altogether. Stiles leaned into the tree, running his hands over the bark in an attempt to ground himself.

“I’m not mad, I’m just confused,” said Derek. He didn’t sound as breathless as Stiles felt.

Ah, that was _exactly_ what Stiles wanted to hear after kissing him like that. He revisited the fetal-position-into-pond idea. He needed to get out of Derek Hale's orbit before they took everything too far. Or took everything further than half a million in stolen diamonds and making out on the golf course. 

“Alright, well this has been weird,” said Stiles abruptly, “I’m gonna go drink my feelings or go fry my last neuron on The Learning Channel. I’ll decide on the way. Bye.”

Derek grabbed his wrist before he turned away, “Stiles, wait,” Stiles waited, “I just mean I don’t understand.”

“Yeah?” Stiles tried not to yell, “Well me neither!”

“I thought you wanted Lydia?” Derek said, “I heard you talking to Scott. I just assumed…”

Stiles laughed, what the fuck was happening?

“I do, want Lydia I mean,” said Stiles, “I guess I also want- actually, you know what, this is too embarrassing to talk about. I’m gonna- I’m gonna go,” he stumbled backwards over the roots and tripped but he caught himself before Derek could pull him up, “Don’t get caught, okay? Separate them down to the stones and sell them to private buyers only. Don't talk about them as units and don't sell them all at once.”

If the fraud unit could see him now. 

“I won’t,” said Derek, “Good luck, Stiles.”

The tone of sincerity in his voice gave Stiles pause. He looked back at Derek, bathed in the silver moonlight sifting through the willow branches with diamonds glimmering at his feet. It was surreal. Stiles got coffee stains and paperwork and microwave dinners for one in front of the TV. He didn’t get a moonlit fantasy. He didn’t get Derek Hale. 

“Thanks, Derek. I’d wish you luck too, but you should probably stop stealing. You wouldn’t want someone like me to take you down.”

Stiles walked away before his actions got ahead of his tumultuous thoughts. He didn’t need to rumple his clothes like they’d talked about. His bowtie was askew and there was bark in his hair. 

Ha, the simplest explanation was usually the truth. 

He didn’t let himself look back until he was sitting in the back of a cab. He thought he saw eyes flash in the dark of the golf course as the cab wound its way out of the country club, but he couldn’t be sure. 

He couldn’t be sure about anything.

**********

_Two months later_

Stiles wiped dust off his hands onto his jeans. That was the last box. He collapsed the cardboard and tossed it onto the pile at the corner of his office. His office. Not his cubicle or task team table. Office. 

He grinned at the letters on the window. _Stilinski P. I._

The tiny office was on the seventh floor of a highrise not far from his apartment. It had cost half of the nest-egg Stiles had been saving for his brand new Jeep, but he could squeeze a few more years out of the old girl. He was sure it was worth every penny. Of course he’d have to build up a reputation and work hard to scrape by. But he’d get to choose his cases, important cases. Maybe he’d even do some pro bono work and help people who really needed it. 

He was looking forward to work. Actually, he was going a bit stir-crazy without it. He’d had way too much time to think, which was historically never a good thing for someone prone to a smidge of anxiety and paranoia. He’d had too much time to think about certain things in particular. Things like Danny’s wedding. Things like being a partner in crime and enjoying it. Things like the feeling of Derek Hale’s hand in his. Unhelpful, useless, frustrating things.

Derek hadn’t called. Stiles hadn’t given him his new number, but he thought… it didn’t matter what he thought. He’d put up a google search alert for Derek Hale. He wasn’t waiting for him or anything, just waiting for him to get caught. He had a little skin in the game with helping Derek steal and all. It was okay to be curious, he told himself. 

The buzzer rang. 

Stiles jumped and bumped the desk which caused the coffee mug precariously balanced on a book to go crashing to the ground. Luckily it was empty but he didn’t really care. A client was here!

He buzzed them up then rushed around shoving loose papers into loose piles and trying to blow the dust off of the bookshelf. There was a knock on the door. Stiles straightened his shirt and went to open the door. 

Standing in the hallway in front of Stiles door was Derek Hale. He wore his black leather jacket and grey henley shirt with jeans. It was classic Derek. Stiles’ stomach dropped.

He jumped back and held up his finger before Derek spoke, “No! No, no, no! Whatever it is, I don’t want to know. I just got this place, man!”

“I’m not going to drag you into anything,” Derek raised his hands in surrender.

“See, you say that now, but fast forward an hour and I’m in a knife fight with a raccoon colony you owe money.”

“A raccoon…? Look, Stiles, I just want to talk,” said Derek. 

“Are you still a criminal?” said Stiles.

“Yeah, probably,” said Derek.

“Then why should we talk?” said Stiles.

“Because I want to say something to you?” said Derek.

“What?” said Stiles.

“If I tell you what then I will be saying it and I don’t really want to do this in the hall,” said Derek.

“Why?” said Stiles.

“Goddamn it- just, I’m coming in,” Derek walked past Stiles into his office. Stiles stared at him. Derek pointed to the door. Stiles shut the door. 

Stiles thought the image of Derek leaning against his new desk might be imprinted on the back of his retinas forever. Jesus Christ. Jesus Fucking Christ. A mess. Stiles was a mess. This was going to be his great first day and everything.

“I don’t have time for this! I’m supposed to be on the job, hustling, getting bread, chasing coins, making it rain, working for the-”

“Stiles.”

“Hi.”

“You good?”

“Yep.”

“Okay so I’m just going to talk and you can listen if you want to. Since you’re in a rush.”

“Okay. Yeah. In a rush,” clearly Stiles’ brain to mouth filter was breaking down.

Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles waved him on. 

“I was really confused at Danny’s wedding-”

“Yeah, no duh.”

Derek gave him a sharp look. Stiles zipped his lips and threw away the key. 

“I wasn’t confused about what I was doing or anything like that. I won’t pretend it was right and I won’t apologize for it. But what I didn’t get is why it was so much fun. Honestly, I haven’t had a night that good that didn’t involve sex in… ever. Shut up, that’s not the point,” Stiles shut his gaping mouth, “I had a really great time with you, even before everything on the golf course. But I liked that too.”

Holy shit, was Derek getting shy? Stiles didn’t laugh because it wasn’t funny. Maybe it would be tomorrow, but right now it felt a bit like life or death. Which was insane because he’d done a ton of life or death stunts. This still felt more serious.

Derek soldiered on, “I don’t want to come in and fuck up a good thing if you have something going-”

“I don’t.”

“- so I guess I came by to see if you had time or space for me. I'm a simple guy, always have been. You've got pretty eyes and a loud mouth and, you might just kick my ass out for this, but you're definitely my type now. I like you Stiles, for better or for worse. Hell, I haven't been able to think about anybody else since the wedding. Beacon Hills got too small a long time ago and I'm here in the city. If you ever want to meet up for coffee or rob a bank, I’m around,” Derek joked. But he wasn't joking, Stiles could see it in the set of his brow. He was telling the truth.

Stiles saw it all laid out in front of him. His plans all wrecked and made into something new. Every little loose end tied into a perfect tapestry. He started pacing across his small office. Was he really going to take a chance on it? Did he grab it and run?

Derek looked down at his hands and chuckled, “You don’t have to say anything, but it’d be nice.”

“Shhh,” Stiles said, “I’m thinking.”

“I didn’t realize a coffee date required an analysis,” said Derek. He had no idea. 

“Yeah and I didn’t take time to think when I helped you steal all that shit from the wedding then I spent the next three weeks waiting to get my old coworkers banging on my door. Give me a second.”

Stiles had reached his conclusion the second that Derek had said he liked kissing Stiles. It was still worth a bit of careful consideration before he flung himself off the ledge after Derek Hale for the thousandth time. Cross his i’s, dot his t’s, and all that.

“How’s it going in there?” Derek said warily. 

Stiles clapped his hands together. It was loud in the small space, “Alright! Just got done thinking.”

“And?”

“We’re going to do this my way.”

“Drink coffee here?”

“No. Completely wrong idea, pretty boy.”

“Thanks?”

Stiles started pacing again. 

“This is going to sound crazy, because it probably is, but it makes sense to me so I think I’m just going to pitch it.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Okay so I just started my private investigator career, like today. It’d be a pretty bad business model to be messing around with a petty thief on the side.”

“Petty?”

“A debonair man of mystery who steals tiny things, how about.”

“Better.”

“What would be a good business model was if you help me relocate items for my clients and I give you a cut. It'd be a good, mostly honest job. You wouldn't have to sell stolen watches to survive anymore.”

Derek stared at him, “I was just… asking you to coffee.”

“Hear me out,” Derek groaned and put his head in his hands. Stiles probably had said that too many times before, “I’ve been trying to find a way to get a reputation in the business, but I’m starting to think the only way is to start by showing people what I can do, then asking for money after the fact. You could be my guy. I can find things to steal, things that belong with their rightful owner, and you can steal them. I’ll find some real scumbags for you to rob blind if you’re down on money, but I’d think you’d be fine with the diamonds for a while so-”

“I gave them back.”

Stiles squinted at Derek, “What?”

Derek shrugged nonchalantly, “You got to me. A lot of those people probably deserved it, but I was mostly angry that they had everything my family was supposed to have. I wasn’t doing it for the right reasons. I gave the necklaces back to the club and kept everything else.”

“That’s hot,” Stiles blurted.

“Me giving back the stuff I stole?”

“Hey!” Stiles stuck his finger at Derek’s chest, “The stuff _we_ stole. And no. Just the moral backbone part. Like Robinhood or something. Very Karl Marx.”

“You think Karl Marx is hot?” Derek asked skeptically.

Stiles realized he’d gone a bit off the rails. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. Derek watched him patiently.

“So,” Stiles continued, “how about I give you a real job and you help me for a change?”

“I don’t know, Stiles," said Derek, "I already said I have feelings for you. I don’t know exactly what they are and it’s probably not a good idea to mix up your career like that. We’ve got history too. Stuff like this always goes sideways.”

Fuck it, thought Stiles, cards on the table. 

“Well I know exactly what my feelings are and I’m going to tell you since you came all the way up here. Kissing you was the highlight of my shitty shitty year. It might have been the adrenaline or the booze, but it rocked. So I guess congratulations for living up to your disgustingly handsome face. Full package and all, must be nice,” Stiles tried to keep himself from getting sidetracked angrily complimenting Derek, “Besides that, I think I need a partner. Don’t give me that look, I didn’t say husband. I’m just sick of being alone and I think you’re here because you are too. Look, I know we haven't talked since Beacon Hills. That’s a long time, and I'll be honest, I have no idea how the fuck you've gotten by and what you've been through since then. But we’ve always made a good team, Derek. We could do it together. The whole not-being-alone thing, the PI thing, all of it.”

“Fine.”

Stiles scrutinized Derek. That was way too easy. He had prepared a few supporting arguments while he was talking. But Derek looked back at Stiles and something like understanding passed between them. Huh. He hadn't had that kind of immediate understanding with anyone but Scott before. Stiles got the feeling that his checkered history with Derek had just been practice for this. He knew Derek and Derek knew him. They didn't have to waste time on the pretenses.

“I'll steal for your good causes," declared Derek, "Whatever you want, I've got time and money to spare right now. But I’m not doing arson." 

Stiles frowned, “Why the hell would you have to do arson?”

“Things tend to escalate around you. I figured I’d set my boundaries now,” Derek said with a grin. 

“So you’re in?” Stiles asked, “I can’t put your name on the sign, I already put up the letters.”

“I don’t need my name on the sign. I'm in,” Derek pushed off from the desk and Stiles stopped pacing in front of him. 

“Oh. I guess we should agree on the payment system then.”

“Fuck on the desk,” said Derek. Stiles blanched. Huh? What? Seriously?

He caught the playful smirk on Derek’s mouth. Oh he was messing with him. 

“Hold hands,” Stiles suggested, holding out his hand.

“Make out,” offered Derek. He grabbed Stiles’ hand and tugged him forward. Stiles tucked nicely into Derek’s chest. 

“Sold,” Stiles murmured a hair's breadth from Derek’s lips. 

Derek smiled and the distance vanished. 

It hadn't been the adrenaline or alcohol last time. Whatever chemical reaction happening in Stiles' brain when Derek hoisted him easily onto the desk and kissed him like he meant it was entirely Derek's fault. Derek tasted like mint, Derek's hips fit perfectly right... there, Derek's jacket was suddenly gone. Stiles idly wondered if they were actually about to fuck on the desk. It wasn't that he didn't want that to happen, but he just organized the desk. It would be a pain to clean up.

Stiles kissed back a bit more gently, taking his time. Derek seemed to notice the change and adjusted, cupping a hand under Stiles' cheek and moving with something closer to affection than lust. A pleased shiver ran down Stiles' spine. He could get used to this.

Derek pulled back a few minutes later. His smiling mouth was wet with Stiles' spit. Stiles could not process that information so he grabbed Derek's hand and gave him a fist bump. He added the explosion sound effect on the end. Derek stared at him blankly and Stiles laughed as he slid off the desk.

"No take backsies," said Stiles.

"I didn't think that was an option for a kiss," Derek said.

Stiles gaped at him, "You call that just a kiss? What do you call the other stuff then?"

Derek shrugged, "Other stuff. But we should probably get back to the P. I. stuff. It's your first day, right?"

Stiles narrowed his eyes up at him. Derek shrugged again and Stiles decided they'd revisit the 'other stuff' conversation later. Derek was right, he did have work to do. In fact, now that Derek was on board, with all his thieving habits...

“I’ve already got the perfect case,” Stiles said, handing Derek a file that had been open on his desk. 

Derek flipped open the file, “What kind of case?”

Stiles grinned, “It’s a painting that was stolen in World War II. It's being gifted to some oil tycoon next week, the first time it'll be out in the public eye. Do you still have that tux?”

Derek grinned back and nodded. Stiles filed it under a new category, ‘Stiles and Derek Scheme Smiles'.

“Terrific.”

**Author's Note:**

> In scam goddess language, this is what they call hater-scammer solidarity.
> 
> We love to see it. 
> 
> <3


End file.
